Outside"How the mighty have fallen?" She repeated, incensed by the woman's mockery. "Who are you? How dare you speak to me like that?!"
The woman in gray laughed, before looking at her companion, a man dressed in extravagant clothing, "The more she talks the more I think you where right. She doesn't want to get out."
"I told you this was a waste of time." He shook his head, long braid shaking with him. "Let's just leave her and go."
"No!" She interjected quickly. "I'll listen. I'll listen to whatever you have to say."
"Really?" The woman asked, switching to German. "So, you'll listen to me, and you'll do whatever I, or my companion here, tell you to?"
"I hate when you switch to German." The man muttered, "You just do it because I can't understand you."
"If it gets me out of this tower, I will." The Countess responded.
The woman's smile grew a bit. "Good. We'll help you, but you'll be in my d
Being biBeing bi is something that comes from inside your heart,Being bi8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Not something inside a bottle of booze turned loose with some hardcore tunes,
Being bi is who you are,
Not an outfit your trying on,
Being bi is not a choice,
not a chance for popularity,
Being bi is loving both genders,
Not kissing your freinds to turn a few heads,
Being bi is being born that way,
Not being born straight or gay,
Being bi is being you,
Not kissing and feigning romance for social status.
Being bi is not a choice,
Not a choice for popularity,
Being bi is confusion,
Not knowing what you do is for kicks,
Being bi is about love,
Not about fun.
Being bi is about being you,
Not being someone else.
PoetryAll the words I cannot say,Poetry8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Even though I'm not mute,
All the tears and fears I cry and hide,
everything I keep inside all comes out with one thing in mind,
Draw my OC contestAll the cool kids are going it, so let me hop on this bandwagon.Draw my OC contest2 years ago in Personal More Like This
It's exactly what it sounds like. You draw my OCs, and if I like your drawing best (or second best, or third best) you win *prizes*, but before I get into all of that...
Rules and guidelines
Let's keep it PG-13. No gore or heavily sexual material please.
Alternate outfits/genderbends that you design yourself are fine.
2 entries maximum.
Must be a finished piece (no lineart or sketches) that was created specifically for this
You don't have to advertise this (but if you want to, thank you very much!), however please mention the contest in the artist description.
You don't have to watch me if you don't want to. I've been getting a lot of watchers lately, and I'm not sure if it's because of this, but don't watch me if you don't want to. If you take a place, I will inform you.
Please link me to your entries. If you don't, I won't know about it, an
PoetryThere is something about poetryPoetry10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
that loosens the soul
it evokes strong feelings
it never gets old
it is pure emotion
feelings that do not waver
bottled up inside
waiting for the right paper
bright and cheerful
gloomy and sad
loving and tender
hateful and mad
it doesnt matter
whatever the mood
a poem can be found
that will fit the groove
that you cannot see
when reading greatness
that thing called poetry
poetryI write because I canpoetry9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I write because I will
I write what's on my mind
And I write that with a quille
No need for memory
Or any sign of sin
Just some words from my mind
And here's where it begins
I sit in a room of hurt and dispair
Maybe start writing about that girl crying over there
She seems so lifeless, tired and weak
With long black and red hair covering her face while she weeps
They aren't always right
They aren't always true
They aren't always about me
Not all about you
But they're about something
I'm yet to find out what
They come from my mind
Sometimes from my heart
I can write of love
I can write of pain
I can write of hate
I can write in vein
But one thing I can't do is say what I know
Because that young girl crying could ruin the show
The one in the corner with the black and red do
That one about the crying is about me not you.
Easter chocolate - MattxMelloMello liked Easter. That was obvious. It had to do with his religion and chocolate. Two of his favorite things. Every year Mello would make his rounds collecting chocolate from the other orphans. The ones who didn't like chocolate and where content with jelly beans or allergic to chocolate, brown nosers who wanted to stay on Mello's good side, and the orphans who could be intimidated into handing over the goods with a particularly scary and possibly copyrighted glare. Needless to say, Mello was up to his respective ass in chocolate.Easter chocolate - MattxMello7 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
And there was Matt. Another one of Mello's favorite things, not that he would admit this. Matt normally handed over his chocolate, possibly because he was allergic, happy with jelly beans, afraid of Mello's copyrighted glare, or perhaps because he had expected that if he was Mello's closest friend Mello got all his chocolate.
The trouble began when Mat began to question the natural
PoetryI found meaningPoetry10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In words so unspoken,
And the places
No eye catches.
In the shade of behemoth movement,
Watching a life
Behind the borders of mind,
Without a breath or word
A reason to question the air above my head.
How I breathe
And am held down,
And crawl through forests
Still as the sky.
And listen to what was always there
Between branches and channels,
Learn from each
To know yourself.
And the one's you would surrender it all for.
Continue with that emblem
Out of corners.
Make the road your own.
Forget each curve
And listen in silence.
There we find answers that we only dreamed to know.
PoetryPoetry11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I'll take all my
Anger, sadness, joy, appreciation, observation
The metaphysical, the ethereal
And put it onto here.
Write black ribbons onto white paper
And unravel the sphere
Of flowing thoughts and clashing voices
The crashing of waves and the foam of the sea.
I think poetry in the shower
Poetry in my sleep
Poetry before and after I make a leap
I think poetry when I watch people dying
And when I hear children sighing
Poetry when I watch a machine
All in those monochrome films in history.
Though I feel it, I still don't know the words
Forming in my mouth but not coming out
Like tears that haven't been formed
They exist mentally, but pyschically it has no form.
I'll take this
And place it onto here
And if you stay very silent
You can hear the moving of gears
The heavenly spheres being the spark of electricity
Moving me, driving me into the ground
The silence resound.
And I'll take this
Emotion- this devastation, this reverberation
All that makes a human free
TNA - InfiltrationTNA - Infiltration4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Note: This is the sequel to my previous story entitled "Battle At Kohaku Island."
"Fura!" A woman called out with a disconcerting scream of desperation. Tears welled up in her deep brown eyes. They streamed down like a creek along the contours of her stout face. The teardrops dripped onto the sleeves of a long brown haired woman with piercing blue eyes and a scar on her left cheek.
"Masaki!" A masculine voice boomed from a few feet away. A man wearing a tan flak vest was pinned to the rocky ground via a blade embedded in his shoulder, courtesy of Hittokiri, who was standing over him.
The man's eyes, which were amethyst in color, reflected rage in its rawest; purest form. "Hittokiri, you bastard! Why are you doing this!?"
Hittokiri smiled as he sunk his blade deeper into the man's shoulder, eliciting a grunt of pain from him. "Well that's a stupid thing to ask Fura. Its because you two won't tell me whether Setsuna is in the village right now or not."
A thud and the sound of someone gar
Poetry is...Poetry is something uncatchable,Poetry is...9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
As the wind,
Poetry is something you must feel,
It IS art and yet it is not.
Poetry is beautiful,
It is the chronicle of life.
It describes anything,
From real to abstract,
From surreal to a fact.
It means something,
It is a potion of words,
It is a thought.
Poetry is different,
everytime it's read.
Poetry is a message.
everytime it's said.
More then just words.
Poetry is....Poetry is:Poetry is....9 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
It is all that and more.
Poetry is life.
It is everything and everywhere.
Poetry is death.
It is nothing yet something.
Poetry is dreams.
It is the night like sleep that we cannot remember when we wake.
Poetry is me.
It is you.
It is us.
TNA - InvasionNote: This is the sequel to my previous story entitled "Infiltration."TNA - Invasion4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Maria laughed, "Are you serious? As if some invasion force made up of some lame Takigakure shinobi could actually pose any type of threat to us."
Hittokiri shook his head as he stood up, "You don't know Setsuna like I do, he has jutsu in his arsenal that could easily wipe out our hideout. A guy like that leading an invasion force of Takigakure's finest is overkill."
"If that's the case then we need to get back to the hideout and warn the others before Setsuna and his invasion force gets there," Daemen said as he crossed his arms across his chest.
Hittokiri nodded, "Right," he turned to Shiryuu, "I don't think I need to tell you that I'm really pressed for time here, can I really trust you to take care of Hikarin?"
"Of course," Shiryuu replied as he reached into his tattered cloak and pulled out a scroll, "Just sign your name on this scroll with your blood and you and I will be bound to one another under the code of
poetry.But i love youpoetry.8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Will you be there when i die
kiss me one final time
catch me when i fall and bleed
would you even wanna cry
while you watch me slowly die
watching as my blooddrips
rolling off my finger tips
drips onto the floor
more and more
hearing all my bloody cries
watch tears roll from my eyes
gasping for one final breath
pain swells up in my chest
spreading through my arms and legs
but i can still feel pain
i try to regret nothing
but that is so hard to do
when all i hear is
"but i love you"
Poetry AssignmentShe was a troubled girl, says the color of her dressPoetry Assignment8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hanging over a torn up and damaged door;
a sad one too, says the tear soaked bed in
the corner; A strange, God-hating
one, says the carving in the wall and
the positions of the rocks on the shelf;
but not a girl of society, say the poems
of suicide and depression on the desk.
A cat lived with her, says the scratching
post near the door with catnip covering the
floor around it, and it lived in the room
says the bag of cat food ripped open.
Light was scarce, say the candles melted
on the desk dripping down to the floor,
and so was food, say the half eaten bars
of food and bags of chips.
Something went wrong, says the knife in
a puddle of blood. Poems on the desk say
she was not part of society; the color of
her dress say she worn it many times.
And the cat? Hairballs line the floor like soldiers -
cat food, some black hair, a few potato chips.
Something went wrong, they say.
HomophobiaHomophobia is the words scrawled on the bathroom wall,Homophobia8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Bold and blaring, the girl shall fall.
Homophobia is the words that spew out of their lips,
The ignorant comments, they make me sick.
Homophobia is the lessen the little boy is taught,
It was not intended, but in his mind its caught.
Homophobia is the lock on the closet,
I am trapped in and there is no way out.
No poetryNo poetry was written,No poetry9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
No fairytales were read.
As if it was forbidden,
By the monsters in her head.
And all they thought was silly,
Was quickly thrown away.
By a girl who had to grow up,
By a girl who couldn't play.
All her dreams and fantasies,
All her fears and hopes.
Thrown in a bag of garbage,
Balloons and skipping ropes.
The teddybears and puzzles,
All had to retreat.
For new puzzles in her head,
She never would complete.
No poetry was written,
No fairytales were told.
Her eyes spoke of a sad tale,
Her hands were always cold.
She thought of no white horses,
For she was no princess.
Her life was about papers,
And secret loneliness
All her dreams and fantasies,
Would never come true now.
For she had forsaken them,
Without knowing how.
Remember how happy she was.
She doesn't even know.
The little girl she used to be,
Was forgotten long ago.